


Resurgence

by solasta



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Eventual Romance, F/M, M/M, POV Second Person, Pynch through everyone else's eyes, Violence, Zombie Apocalypse, bear with me, kind of, pynch - Freeform, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 17:02:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3904045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solasta/pseuds/solasta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And alas the world (or perhaps it’s Glendower, or maybe the God that Ronan worships) hears his struggle, and laughs. Gansey fears death, dreads it, obsesses over it, craves to know it like nothing else, just to conquer it. And it must be because of this, because Gansey can truly not think of any other reason, because of that interest that the world has decided Richard Gansey III will never meet death.</p>
<p>When Gansey dies, he wakes up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resurgence

Gansey feared death since the moment he died.

 

It was a strange thing to think to himself but it was ultimately true. The moment he felt his heart stop, after the thousand stings of creatures that didn’t particularly know the value of his life, was the moment he _did_. It might’ve been too little too late but it was how it happened.

 

Sometimes Gansey thought that the worst part of it was remembering it.

 

Remembering the sting of the wasps’ needles, the suffocating feeling of his throat closing, the slow and stop of his heart. Remembering the first sting, the noise of the wings in his ears filling his mind like cotton, the ringing sound of a king’s proclamation in his bones. It’s the memory that haunts him, that comes to him in his nightmares, runs his blood cold. Surely, the memories of it are the worst thing, Gansey thinks, in moments when he can’t quite catch his breath, the phantom sensation of his throat closing so real that it hurts. Surely.

 

But then he’d lie awake at night, eyes settled on the high vaults of the ceiling of Monmouth, fingers clenching his sheets so tightly his knuckles are white. Then he thinks to himself, convinces himself really, that the worst thing about it all is not remembering. The memories he’s missing. Those moments, hours, minutes between death and life, those seconds that could conquer his fear that he will never have the relief of knowing.

 

Gansey remembers dying with torturing clarity. He recalls nothing of death.

 

And alas the world (or perhaps it’s Glendower, or maybe the God that Ronan worships) hears his struggle, and laughs. Gansey fears death, dreads it, obsesses over it, craves to know it like nothing else, just to _conquer_ it. And it must be because of this, because Gansey can truly not think of any other reason, because of that _interest_ that the world has decided Richard Gansey III will never meet death.

 

When Gansey dies, he wakes up.

 

XXX

It’s dark. It’s the type of darkness that seeps into your bones, takes away your breath, makes you mind race and numb at once. His heart quiets. And then –

 

“Dick, _get up_!”

 

Gansey gasps, eyes opening and boggling, limbs jolting as his body is pulled forward. He gasps again, shaking, eyes scanning over the world around him. The light is blinding in lue of the previous black, and his eyes take a moment too long to adjust. All he sees is streaks of green, grey, light. His mouth tastes of copper, his tongue seems too thick.

 

“For the love of God – _Parrish_!“

 

A black blur, a wet sound, a grunt.

 

“I’m trying! Gansey come _on_!”

 

The collar of his shirt is digging uncomfortably into the back of his neck and he feels pain like nothing else. Sharp and hot at the back of his head, thick and throbbing in the muscles of his caves. Aching everywhere else. He sees streaks of blonde before his eyes, the blur of pale skin, eyes big and wide with fright–

 

“Adam?” Gansey rasps, and his voice hoarse, not his own. Adam curses.

 

_“Shit, no,”_

_Gansey blinks sluggishly, looking up at the wobbly form leaning over him, feeling his breath leave him. All he can focus on is eyes, so blue and bright and wide, wobbling before him, shaking in and out of existence. He feels warmth dripping onto his cheeks, before rough palms are over them, firm and warm, so warm._

_Why is he so cold?_

_“No, no Gansey, no you can’t…you can’t die no, I fixed this, no Gansey –“_

_Why is it so cold?_

“ _Parrish_!”

 

“I’m _going_!” Adam shouts, then there’s something warm and solid at his side, his arm wrapped around broad shoulders. “I’ve got you, Gansey. I’ve got you.”

 

“Guh…” Gansey grunts, his vision swimming in front of him, his stomach lurching. Adam tugs him forward and Gansey stumbles along with him, blinking as the forest around them slowly comes into focus. He looks overhead, sees the trees that he can barely glimpse the tops of, and stumbles, making Adam curse yet again. He hears a grunt behind him, a growl that sounds familiar, and he looks over his shoulder but all he sees is blurs and trees.

 

Cabeswater?

 

“What?” Adam snaps, his blue eyes flicking to Gansey quickly. Gansey blinks, slow and sluggish because he hadn’t realized he’d said that out loud. Adam glances at him twice, between glances over their shoulder and in front of them. He purses his lips, shakes his head with a sigh. “Dammit. Dammit Gansey.”

 

Adam’s arm is firm around his middle, his hand clutching Gansey’s over his shoulder. He tugs him between trees, their shoulders brushing bark as they move quickly, quicker than Gansey can keep up with. But Adam’s grip is tight, unyielding. Gansey breathes quickly, his feet sinking into the soft soil, his bearings coming back to him slowly. Then he hears it.

 

A moan.

 

A grunt.

 

“Fuck.” Adam hisses softly. Gansey swallows.

 

“Adam, what –“ Gansey’s breath hitches, catches somewhere in his throat, because there’s a groan coming from behind them, deep and strangled and inhuman. “What?”

 

“You need to move faster.” Adam says, ignoring Gansey’s question entirely as he practically drags the two of them forward. “I know you got hit pretty bad, but we’re almost there and you need to move _faster_!”

 

Gansey’s feels fear spike sharp in his gut, his eyes widening in confusion and terror. He chances a glance behind them but sees nothing but the trees, tall and close-knitted, and the light of the clearing they were in before. He swallows.

 

“Is – is it one of Ronan’s night terrors?” Gansey asks softly, glancing overhead, listening for the sounds of wings. All he can hear is echoes. A thud, a groan, a moan.

 

A gun shot.

 

Gansey jolts, blood running cold at the sound, a sound he hasn’t heard since that night with Whelk, a sound he feels conditioned to fear. “Adam, what –?”

 

“Shit, shit, shit, shit…” Adam murmurs under his breath, accent thick as his feet quicken, his eyes glancing frantically behind him. The two of them make it to a small hill, an incline that Gansey can see leads up to a black road, and Adam struggles to help Gansey up it. Gansey tries his best, willing his feet to be sure, but his mind still feels as though it’s filled with marbles and his head still throbs. His balance is off. Gansey is looking back as they break through the trees, and he swears he catches a glimpse of something grey and human shaped –

 

“Took you long enough!”

 

Gansey blinks, looking up and his brows instantly furrow.

 

“Tad?” Gansey asks in confusion. At least he’s pretty sure it’s Tad, the face seems familiar even if everything else doesn’t. The boy is in rags, his T-shirt ripped along his sleeves, jeans torn and stained. His hair is wet with sweat and slick to his forehead, and his skin is covered in a dusting of dirt.  Gansey gasps for air, the exertion of the trek hitting him at once with the burn in his chest. He glances back into the forest, looks for the figure.

 

He sees nothing.

 

“Sorry.” Adam says shortly, dragging Gansey across the road, past Tad’s confused fumbling. “Complications.”

 

“Complications?” Tad snaps, brows furrowed in bewilderment at Adam as he follows behind them across the road. “What kind of complications?”

 

The road is scattered with cars, both left and right, in each lane, which is odd in itself for Henrietta. There’s no such thing as traffic in Henrietta because it’s completely unlikely for everyone to be driving in the same direction at once. In a town this small it’s surprising to even see a dozen cars on any given street you’re on, but this has to be four times that at least. But stranger still is the stillness of the vehicles. Not one of the cars is moving, and when Gansey glances into a minivan they pass by as Adam drags him, he’s startled to see it’s empty, completely abandoned. For some reason he has a feeling that he would find the car keys in the ignition. There are reindeer antlers pinned to the top of the vehicle. Gansey notices a car seat.

 

He feels sick.

 

“What kind do you think?” Adam snaps over his shoulder. “Open the damn door Caruthers.”

 

Gansey blinks at the vehicle they’ve stopped in front of, inspecting the dark paint of the SUV in confusion. Gansey doesn’t recognize it. It’s a heavy duty car, with tinted dark windows, thick tires. Tad opens the passenger door and Adam pushes Gansey into it. Gansey stumbles on the way in, practically falling back into the seat.

 

“This isn't my car,” Gansey gasps, feeling the warm leather of the seat underneath his hands, inspecting the clean interior.  Gansey swallows. “Where’s the Pig?”

 

He looks to Adam but Adam just stares at Gansey, mouth open to speak before he closes it. He looks Gansey over with an emotion that Gansey can’t quite decipher before turning back to Tad and starting to remove his tattered bulging backpack.

 

“The fucks he on about?” Tad asks in confusion, but Adam just takes something from the backpack and then tosses the bag at Tad. The boy catches it with surprising smoothness.

 

“None of your business. Hey, can you patch him up for me?” Adam asks, wiping at the sweat on his brow and tucking something into the front of his pants. He has his back to Gansey now, so Gansey can’t quite see it, but Tad doesn’t react to it at all. Gansey blinks between the two of them, only now noticing the streaks of grime on Adam’s cheeks and the slashes in his worn flannel.

 

“What happened to him?” Tad asks suddenly, something sharp in his tone that makes Gansey’s eyes snap to him. Tad’s eyes are wary, looking Gansey over as if inspecting him, his mouth pressed into a thin line. Gansey notices his hand hovering somewhere near his pocket, and glances down to see a smooth black hilt poking out of the pocket of his cargo pants.

 

Gansey’s heart drops. He shuffles further into the car, away from Tad, and feels dizziness come over his mind like a thick blanket. He gasps, closes his eyes, swallows. When he looks up Tad is looking at him with open suspicion.

 

“Nothin’.” Adam hisses, accent making the word sharp. Tad takes his eyes away from Gansey long enough to look at Adam. Tad snorts. “Probably a concussion. Banged his head on a rock. He didn’t get bitten –“

 

“Would you tell me if he did?” Tad asks suddenly, and his fingers are fingering the end of the hilt, eyes on Gansey again. His eyes are dark, dark brown, looking over Gansey coldly and clinically. Gansey shivers. “Would you even say anything?”

 

Adam glances at Gansey, and Gansey’s so confused he feels as if the world is caving in on him and maybe it is because his vision is darkening at the edges. Adam looks briefly distressed for about half a second before he takes a deep breath and looks back to Tad steadily.

 

“Tad, he just knocked his head on a rock. Do those look like bite marks to you?” Adam snaps,  taking a step back towards Gansey to point at Gansey’s temple, nudging a wound that Gansey didn’t even know he had. Gansey hisses in pain and recoils. Adam doesn’t even glance his way, too busy staring down Tad firmly. “Now stop thinking before you hurt yourself. I need you to come back in there with me.”

 

Tad’s fingers tighten around the hilt. Adam glances down at the movement. His expression tightens.

 

“You think that’s a good idea?” Adam asks, brow raised. Tad pauses. “So what? You make a come at me, kill Gansey, take the car? How long do you think you’ll last by yourself?”

 

Tad scoffs. “Longer than I’d last in an enclosed car with dead meat.”

 

“He’s not –!” Adam snaps, suddenly angry, and Gansey flinches. The movement makes the world swim. Adam clucks his tongue. “Whatever. We’ll talk about this _after_ we get Ronan. He’s still back there.”

 

Tad guffaws. “Probably dead by now.”

 

The world suddenly focuses at that. Suddenly the area’s a bit clearer, his head a bit less muffled, the fuzzy edges of his vision sharpening slightly.

 

“Wh – what?” Gansey asks, stumbling out of the car. Adam turns to him, looking momentarily stricken before he pushes Gansey back into the car, but Gansey twists out of his way, pressing his back to the warm metal of the SUV’s back door. Adam eyes him worriedly for a moment, eyes wide, before he schools his features, swallowing stiffly and turns back to Tad.

 

“He’s _not_.” Adam bites, stressing the word. Tad scoffs, rolling his eyes.

 

“What was it back there? A dozen walkers? Two? And he used the gun too, who knows how many more are coming – You can’t tell me that he’s not dead!”

 

“And you don’t know that he is!” Adam growls. Tad barks a laugh, edging on hysteric, so cold that Gansey shudders, feeling his stomach lurch once more.

 

_Ronan. Walkers._

What even is this?

 

“How much you wanna bet he is? Farm boy’s good, but nobody’s _that_ good. Signed his own death sentence the moment he shot that gun.” Tad says cruelly. Gansey feels panic curl around his throat like a hand.

 

“If Ronan’s in trouble we’ve got to help him.” Gansey stutters out, his voice hoarser than he’d like. Adam looks at him like he’s just grown another head.

 

“ _You’re_ not going anywhere. You’re staying right here, in that car, with the door shut tight until _we_ come back.” Adam says firmly, and Gansey shakes his head, which is a mistake because it somehow makes the whole world tip on its axis. He gasps and stumbles but Adam’s there before he hits the concrete, pushing him halfway into the car so that his ass is half on the seat.

 

“Correction: you.”

 

Adam snaps his head back to Tad so quickly that it makes Gansey dizzy, or well, dizzier. Tad stares Adam down.

 

“Ronan’s either dead or bitten back there, which mean if we go after him? How do you think we’ll end up? Peachy?” Tad asks sarcastically.

 

“I think,” Adam says stonily, drawing his body up straight and tall, staring Tad down. The other boy is still taller than Adam by an inch or two, but Adam’s presence at the moment is almost enough to close that gap. “That Ronan has saved your life multiple times. That he’s saved all our lives multiple times. That he doesn’t deserve to _die_ in a forest while I spend time arguing with a _moron_.”

 

There’s a growl from the woods, sudden and sharp before it’s cut off. Tad pulls his knife out and is turning towards the sound before Gansey can blink, but Adam just closes his eyes for a brief moment. Gansey suddenly notices the tremors in his friend’s hands just before Adam clenches them into firm fists. Adam licks his dry lips slowly and opens his eyes, glancing uneasily at the forest before looking back to Tad. “Tad, we’re wasting time. He could be hurt. Or dying.”

 

Adam’s finger twitches in Gansey’s direction. Gansey blinks at it.

 

“If you’re not going to help me get him, then at least promise to guard the car. And Gansey.” Adam says with a sigh, turning towards Gansey. He reaches past Gansey to grab something in the backseat of the car. Gansey cranes his neck to try and see what it is, but before he’s even finished the motion Adam’s pulling out a machete. Gansey’s eyes boggle as his friend holds the weapon easily, turning it over in his hands once before shoving at Gansey’s feet until he tucks them into the car. “Make sure nothing gets at him.”

 

“Well, I can’t promise that.” Tad says lowly. Adam’s nostrils flare.

 

“Fuck off Tad. Get in the car too then, asshole. You don’t have the keys anyways.” Adam snaps, and with that he slams the door hard, glancing at Gansey warningly through the window before turning his back and heading back for the forest.

 

He sees Tad’s lips move but he can see nothing but Adam’s back. Adam must say something though, because Tad’s brow furrows, and he puts a hand on Adam’s shoulder. However as Adam quickly shakes it off, Tad’s face twists.

 

Gansey’s finger’s fumble to roll down the window.

 

“ –that doesn’t make Lynch any less dead –“

 

“He’s not dead.” Adam bites out, each word firm with conviction.

 

“Yeah? What makes you think that, huh, Parrish? A feeling?  A message from the gods?” Tad snaps, eyes flicking over Adam’s face, an expression that Gansey still can’t see. Tad swallows, lips pursed once again, and Gansey suddenly realizes, without warning, that Tad Caruthers is terrified. Tad swallows again, flicking his eyes over Adam’s face for another quiet moment before speaking. “Come to the car. We’ll hotwire it. Leave.”

 

“If you think I’m leaving him you’re out of your goddamn mind.” Adam snaps so sharply that Gansey stills. Tad just groans, the sound angry and guttural as he takes a step towards Adam, and Gansey is just fumbling for the handle when Tad speaks.

 

“What is it about him, huh? He got a voodoo dick or something?” Tad snaps, and Gansey’s jaw drops, looking up at the scene to see Tad’s hand loosely holding Adam’s around the machete, only inches between the two of them. Adam turns his face to glare at Tad and Gansey can see the dull red in his cheeks, the irritation.

 

“How many times do I have to tell you Tad, I’m not fucking Lynch.” Adam snaps crudely, shoving Tad back from him so firmly that Tad stumbles back a few steps, feet skittering to the edge of the road before the forest. “And I’m not going to fuck you, you ass! Now get out of my way –“

 

“Why not? Am I not your type?” Tad asks, smirk almost lewd if it was not for the barely hidden fear in his eyes . “Who cares? It’s the apocalypse, sex is sex –“

 

“Are you really trying to get in my pants while Ronan could be dying? Is that seriously what you’re doing right now, you motherfucker –“

 

“Calm down, Parrish, don’t get your panties –“ The smirk on Tad’s lips falls, his eyes widening and his lips falling into a startled ‘o’ for a moment before he’s gone. Just there and then gone.

 

Gansey has a moment of stunned shock before the image he just saw even rights itself. Tad being there. Tad being gone. The thick arms around Tad’s middle pull him into the trees.

 

Oh, god.

 

Gansey feels his fear spike his blood sharply as he scrambles to open the door again, catching only a glimpse of Adam running into the woods after Tad, machete held firm in his hand.

 

“Adam!” Gansey gasps, almost falling out of the car, stumbling and tripping his way over to the forest. To do what he doesn’t know. Against what he doesn’t know. He can feel adrenaline and dizziness, nausea and fear, but all he can think is _Adam, Adam, Adam_. “Adam!”

 

Gansey stumbles past the trees, skidding his way down the soft soil of the incline. He glances quickly around himself and doesn’t see either Tad or Adam or…whatever it is that took Tad. His breath catches and he starts to move forward, back the way they had come, the way Adam had dragged him past.

 

“Adam!” He shouts, feeling fear sour in his stomach, turning to look past identical trees, identical bushes, and identical soil for a streak of blonde, and lithe figure.

 

 

The world shakes before him for a moment, blurry and dark around the edges, and Gansey groans, lifting his hand to a tree to steady himself. He takes a deep breath, putting more weight on the tree only to have his hand slip off of the slick surface. He staggers for a moment, glancing at his hand in confusion, before his blood runs cold. His hand is slick with black, black liquid.  It’s between his fingers, wet on his palm, strangely cold in the warm air. Gansey’s finger’s twitch and the liquid is thick like blood between them, almost sticky in the crevices of his fingers. “What –?”

 

The only warning he gets is a blur in his peripheral vision and a thick stench of rotting, before there is abruptly a body on top of him, shoving him to the ground so quickly that his head spins. Gansey gasps, blinking up at the being crouched over him and losing his breath, fear surging through him.

 

The body is like a blur over him, and Gansey yelps, hand going out on instinct, his finger’s wrapping around something solid before he hits the being with it with all his might. A night terror. It has to be. Another one of Ronan’s terrible dream.

 

Maybe Gansey is in it this time.

 

The body rolls away with the impact of Gansey’s strike, and Gansey scrambled to get his feet under him. He manages to stumble back a few steps before the small body of the Terror staggers back into its crouch and when it turns, Gansey’s stomach sinks.

 

It’s not a night terror.

 

It’s a little girl.

 

But it isn't.

 

Her blonde hair is pulled in pigtails, but it is dull and dead, tangled with dirt and grime. Her blue eyes are covered in a milky film of white, her skin a sallow grey, patchy where it has peeled off to reveal black rotting muscle and bone. She’s missing a large part of her cheek, and through it he can see her blackened teeth even as she snaps them at him, growling and groaning.

 

Gansey can practically hear his fear rushing through his veins.

 

“Oh, god.” Gansey whispers, swallowing thickly. He takes a step back from the girl, and another as she follows him. The child’s teeth snap as she snarls, and Gansey has a moment of confused sympathy before she’s suddenly running at him in a flurry of limbs. He knows he should run. He knows he has to get away, but theres something about a small child sprinting to maul you that makes the mind to body connection go strangely fuzzy. Too late he turns to run, when the girl is only inches to him, and he feels her small fingers grasp into his shirt before he hears a startling wet sound. He flinches at both the sound and at the splatter of wet liquid he feels on the back of his neck, and he turns just in time to see a hatchet pull out from the girls skull with a squelch. The girl wobbles, her fingers loosening on Gansey’s sleeve as she stumbles to the side. Gansey feels as if his eyes are physically pinned to her as her face goes strangely slack for a moment, just a moment before the snarl is back. She bares her small blackened teeth fiercely, and animalistic as growls once more, eyes as firmly fastened to Gansey as his are to her as she lunges for him. Gansey flinches instinctually, but the girl doesn’t move more than an inch before the hatchet is being driven back into her skull. Her mouth goes wide, eyes bulging, and Gansey can see that she’s missing her two front teeth. She crumples.

 

He feels lightheaded.

 

“Hey,” Ronan says stiffly, and it takes a moment for Gansey to realize that Ronan is speaking to him because Ronan’s eyes are still on the small girl, his gaze almost impassive. Ronan drops his arm heavily, allowing the hatchet to hang loosely at his side and as Gansey glances over him frantically, his heart beating too fast, his mind running faster than he can to catch up to it, he hysterically notes that Adam’s worries were for naught. Ronan is whole and healthy, skin unmarred by anything other than the dark streaks of dirt on his pale cheeks. Gansey looks him over and can’t see a hint of blood on him, until he catches a glimpse of Ronan’s white tank top, sees the deep black stains on his shirt, stains that wouldn’t show up on his leather jacket or black jeans. Suddenly the dark splatters on Ronan’s cheeks tell another story, and as Gansey glances down to his friends large pale hands he has to swallow a the urge to either laugh or sob. Ronan’s hands are painted black, almost matching Gansey’s if it didn’t look as if Ronan hand physically dipped his fingers into vats of the substance. His fingers leave dark wet finger prints on the wood of the hatchet’s handle. The stains only seem to overlap over the fading grey of older ones, but they still stand out like blood on stark paper and Gansey might be having a panic attack.

 

Gansey gasps but he still doesn’t quite feel like he’s getting any air, because Ronan might be covered in blood, dripping with it, but with the dark materiel of his clothes Gansey can’t tell, can’t see. This must be a nightmare. Is this what’s in Ronan’s head?

 

“Are you alright?” Ronan asks gruffly, and his brow is furrowed. Gansey doesn’t answer him, can’t because all he sees now is the little girl, her small body crumpled onto the floor, a deep in her skull exposing nothing but slick, wet black. His breath catches.

 

Gansey sways on his feet, and swallows.

 

“I know why you don’t sleep.” Gansey breathes softly before he promptly throws up.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really know what to say here. I hope you enjoyed the first chapter though. Updates biweekly. And I hope you all are as intrigued by the secondary characters in this series as I am. Sorry I feel like this is a useless message I just wanted to say something.


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